


On the Edge of Discovery

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another mission, another Ancient monument, and a clone with ulterior motives.</p><p>Prompts: Round 22 | tres_mechante | Any / Any | no one can see us, but would it be so bad if they could? | exhibitionism, public or semi public sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge of Discovery

Another mission, another world, another Ancient monument. This one resembles a castle straight out of the Middle Ages and there are winding stone staircases and turrets and battlements... and once upon a time it would have been fairly grand. But time has reduced several of the towers to piles of bricks, and nature has reclaimed the land by spreading ivy over the walls and growing trees in the courtyard.

Sam Carter follows a path broken by weeds, marveling at the worn building. The wall at this side has given up entirely and she looks out over her surroundings. Atop a hill, the castle's vantage point gives an almost panoramic view of the land; no doubt the position had been chosen for that very reason. She can imagine villages nestled and knights galloping the winding roads.

The scrape of boot against stone spins her, P-90 at the ready. Her gaze settles on the team's newest member and she blows out a breath. Then wonders why she'd not felt his approach. She's not... getting used to that, is she?

“You shouldn't sneak up on armed personnel, you know?” she informs Baal, turning her back on the clone to eye the landscape once more. It's infinitely safer, since it doesn't cause her heart to race or her stomach to flip. She sincerely wishes _he_ didn't. “I could have shot you.”

“I'm sure my memorial service would be something to forget.”

He's wearing black cargo pants and t-shirt, which makes him look almost part of SG-1. Somewhere is a jacket with the SGC's patch on the arm. Sam still isn't sure how he's managed this... infiltration. She's a little angry about it, but he must have given the IOA _something_ , so what can she say?

“I'm sure,” she echoes.

Baal looks at her, slight smile in place. “I'm surprised you contained yourself. After all, you think little of my inclusion, do you?”

“Can you blame me?”

“You were the one to rescue me,” he says, as if she could forget that fact. “I am merely... repaying your consideration by helping where I can.”

“Of course you are.”

Sam snorts in disbelief, then stalks off, intending to get away from him. Unfortunately he doesn't get the hint and follows her. Like a lost puppy. She throws a glare over her shoulder. He arches an eyebrow and keeps pace.

Stone steps lead up to a parapet and another tower. The wall circles round, creating a small space that's both disconnected from the rest of the castle and yet still part; the arrow slot looks back over the main forecourt where Daniel is translating the text carved into the stonework surrounding the gate.

When Sam finds her way blocked, she tries to back out, but Baal is right behind her. The look on his face tightens her gut. “Move,” she orders.

“Why, Samantha, you have found quite the nook. How... interesting.”

She tries to push him, but she'd have more luck moving the wall. He captures her wrists and twists them behind her back, which has the result of pulling her body against his. Anger surges and she struggles. Yanking one hand free, she punches his shoulder and he grunts.

“Let me go,” she hisses.

“No.” His eyes are dark as he manoeuvres her into the corner. “I do not wish to, and I believe you do not wish it either. Not really.”

“I think the real Baal fucked this clone up.” Sam wriggles, but he has both wrists again and her trapped against the stone and his hard body. She's not going anywhere unless he lets her. “You're defective if you believe that.”

“Oh really?” He leans in, hunger in his brown eyes. “Then why aren't you calling for help?”

She could, and easily. The rest of the team would hear her if she did. Sam glares at him, furious at being caught out, and opens her mouth. Her intention to yell is lost as his lips close on hers.

There is nothing gentle about the kiss: he claims her firmly and fully, his tongue dominating hers as he takes what he wants. The men she's dated lately have all been so careful; treating her as if she's breakable. But she's not a porcelain doll and it makes a change not to be handled like one. Tugging a hand free – and being a little surprised that he lets her – Sam grabs the back of his head and kisses him back just as hard. He gives a low growl that resonates with the flange of his symbiote. She chuckles into his mouth, then nips at his bottom lip. His eyes flare.

Reality slaps her. What the hell is she doing? Clone or not, he's still Goa'uld. He's the copy of a goddamn System Lord, and she's tonguing him twenty metres from the rest of her team, who'd have an apoplexy if they saw her now.

“This is not a good idea,” she tells him.

“Now or in general?”

“In general.”

Baal nods and says, “I concur,” but his fingers are still undoing the buttons of her shirt. And she's still not stopping him. “After all, I doubt a dalliance with you would do me any favours.”

“Then why are you bothering?”

Fingers trace over her ribs, then follow the band of her bra to the back. He deftly undoes the clasp and nudges the black fabric out of his way. His appreciative hum warms her as much as his unabashed touch. “I want you. I always have.”

Sam tries to think, which is hard when his thumbs are rubbing her nipples in tandem. “Always?” she breathes.

“Since I first saw you on Dakara.”

“That wasn't you.”

“Yes and no. I remember it.” He kisses her neck, teeth grazing at the most sensitive part. “Isn't that enough?”

It'll do. She remembers Dakara and his hot eyed glances even as he dismissed her species, gender and intelligence. She remembers thanking him. His response. More, she remembers thinking how damn good looking he was. That hasn't changed.

Neither has her interest, though things would be considerably easier for her if they had.

Sam looks him in the eye. “I want you, though I really shouldn't. I don't know why.”

“Perhaps it is _because_ you shouldn't,” Baal replies, and she thinks it's at least partly that. “Tell me, Samantha – when did you last do something you ought not to?”

She sighs. She's the SGC's golden girl, never doing wrong, and though it's gotten her promotions, there's been little gain personally. Her relationship with Jack died before it was even born, smothered by having to maintain that perfection, even after it wasn't truly necessary. And then there's Pete, who left because she wouldn't commit to his dream of normality. Seems she can't have either world so... she's choosing another? She doesn't know.

“I'm rebelling by having sex with someone who's not quite our enemy?” she inquires, which makes him chuckle. The sound curls her toes.

“If that is what you wish, I can certainly assist.”

Pulling him close again, she mutters, “Thought you'd say that,” before kissing him hard. He responds in kind and she wants to laugh at the sheer wrongness of it. The rightness, because he's neither careful nor too rough, but _exactly_ what she needs. What she wants.

The band of her trousers loosen and Baal's hand slides down. Her croon as his fingers find her clit is swallowed in another deep kiss. She remembers that symbiotes can swap hosts in such a manner and that added danger sends a shiver through her. _Nothing_ about this is safe. She likes that.

She's already wet, but Baal still takes time in stroking her. Long, lazy strokes that ramp up her tension and shorten her breath. A shout in the courtyard freezes her. Baal merely chuckles at the horrified glance she shoots him.

“Does it make a difference?” he asks.

“Y-yes.” Her teeth chatter, and not entirely from arousal. The fear is very real. “If they catch us...”

“I am sure that Teal'c would shoot first and....” He breaks off, a thoughtful crease to his brow. “Perhaps that was not the best choice of phrase.”

Sam giggles, then claps a hand over her mouth. He smirks, removes the obstacle and then kisses her until desire burns the cold fear away. “Admit it, Samantha,” he continues, a little breathless. “The fear of being caught adds to the excitement. And, I think, you would not mind if they did.”

“Meaning?”

Baal tugs his hand free from her panties. He turns her around and forces her against the small ledge under the arrow slot. She can see the courtyard perfectly, see where each of her friends are. If she called out, they would hear her. As he slips her trousers and panties down, that nearest sends a new frisson dancing along her nerves.

It dawns on her that the exposure is as arousing as the play of his fingers. “Shit,” she says.

“Ah, there you are, my sweet – you have worked the notion out for yourself.”

She opens her mouth to deny it, but then his length is sliding in, hot and hard and _ohmygod_. She jams a fist against her lips to smother the moan. Baal measures her depth twice in long, strong strokes, then one hand grips her hip and he slams in. Sam has to brace her hands to stop the forward momentum cracking her head on the wall. He pumps hard, taking what he wants, merciless and God but she's needed this. She pushes back, breathing sharp and shallow.

“Harder,” she mutters.

Baal grunts and slams in. She's too wet for the friction to be rough, but it's almost there. He grabs a breast, fingers tight enough to bruise. Sam utters another curse and shoves against him. “More. Give me more.”

“Demanding,” Baal pants. “I like that. Can you handle more, Samantha?”

The tension gripping her is too much. She nods raggedly. “Yes, dammit, Baal.”

His chuckle caresses her spine. “Look up, my sweet. Can you see your team?”

“Yes.”

“Close, aren't they? Imagine their faces if they could see you, trousers about your knees as you took a Goa'uld's cock and loved it. If they could hear you begging me for more and harder.”

She shudders at the picture he paints. Of course, the reality would be rather different, but the fantasy? _That_ is hot. “Don't stop,” she whispers.

“Like the idea, do you? Mm, I do believe there is a naughty part to the perfect Samantha Carter.”

“I'm not perfect. I don't want to be.” Sam's annoyed that he's spoiling things. She pushes back, taking his length in deep, then reaches and grabs hold of his trousers. It doesn't surprise her that he's only undone the fly, that she's the one with everything on display. “You don't want perfect.”

“Indeed not. But perhaps I enjoy that you play that front for them, yet with a wall in between, you will fuck me. Do you need a dirty little secret, Samantha? Do you wish that to be me?”

She doesn't hesitate. “Yes.”

“Mm.” He grabs a handful of her hair and tugs. The thrill shoots to her groin and she moans. “Be mine,” he says then, his low voice a demand she wants to surrender to. “And I will have you where I should not, on the edge of discovery. Let us flirt with the danger, my sweet.”

“Baal.”

“Ah, you want that.”

“Yes.”

He tugs on her hair, twisting her so he can claim her mouth. Sam gives into the domination eagerly. Putting herself into his hands is not wise, but he seems to know what she wants, what she needs. And, rather than being fearful of her desires, he is happy to accommodate them.

“One thing,” she breathes, breath hitching as his other hand cups her mound. “You will keep this secret.”

“Indeed, my sweet.”

“And don't hurt me.”

“Samantha.” He purrs her name, an admonishment in every syllable. “I would never.”

She knows he means it, and the delight makes her giggle. Stroking a hand over the warm, sun-kissed skin of his forearm, she amends, “Well, not unless I want you to.”

“I have been known to bite on request,” he comments.

Pushing down on his arm to increase the pressure between her legs, she asks, “Have you been known to make a lady come, Baal?”

His response is to pinch her clit and thrust hard. Once, twice and on the third, the tension snaps like a rubber band and she sees stars. He pulls away. Her legs give out and she slides to her knees. She looks up, aware he hasn't climaxed, and smirks.

Surprise flickers over his face, then his eyes close. He tastes of her, mingled with a saltiness that's all him. Sam takes him deep, swirling her tongue over the head, letting her teeth graze his length. Baal grabs handfuls of her hair. She wonders what this looks like; her with shirt open and bra pushed up, her trousers mid-thigh, and him, clothed and with his cock swallowed whole. She imagines it would be fairly hot.

It doesn't take long to make him come undone. She gulps him down, which wins her a groan of approval. He looks shocked and she realises he's not expected a return. But no – if they are going to do this, then it's a two way thing.

Sitting back on her heels, she drags a hand across her mouth and flicks a glance up through her eyelashes. “You taste fabulous,” she says, and grins wider at the colour that flood his face.

“Okay, get up and pull yourself together.” His tone is terse, and she suspects that's because she's manage to wrong-foot him. “Otherwise this will be a very short-lived affair.”

Sam rises to her feet and then tugs her pants up. They've avoided a mess this time, but she'll have to get her hands on some condoms for future... dalliances. She refastens her bra and does up her shirt. After shaking out her hair, she spins for him. “Do I looked like I've been fucked?”

“Not too much.” He purses his lips. “Perhaps I should try harder next time.”

“So you're still interested, then?”

His gaze drops and then rakes her slowly. By the time it meets hers, she feels naked again. And eager to go again. It dawns on her that she might be in trouble, and not just if the IOA find out what's going on.

“I am.”

“Sam!” Cam's shout jolts them both. “Sam, where are you?”

“Coming,” she calls back, then glares at Baal. “Not. One. Word.”

“Would I?”

He offers her his arm, all cordial gentleman now he's gotten what he wants. Sam tucks her hand in and they walk away from their semi-private corner. She's had sex out in the open and yet no one knows. The thought brings a wide smile to her face.

“Not if you want to do this again, you won't,” she tells him.

He does, so he merely grins. She smirks back. They have to temper those responses when they rejoin the rest of the team, and go back to sniping at one another. That's fine. More than okay. It's just their version of foreplay.

It's apt they've an audience for that.


End file.
